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Victoria Canal’s debut album feels deeply. ‘Slowly, It Dawns’ sits with the emotions you stumble upon in your mid-20s, as the Spanish-American, London-based artist told NME in her Cover interview. Whether it’s realising “I’m never gonna have everything figured out”, or the so-called “quarter-life crisis”, Canal’s impressive (and Ivor Novello Award-winning) songwriting looks to her past to reflect on the realities of life: the idea that multiple things can be true at once.
Take the sweet, sharp indie-pop of ‘June Baby’, co-written with The 1975’s Ross MacDonald. Depicting the dizzy rollercoaster of summer romance, Canal candidly draws upon contrary emotions, reflecting on heart-racing early interactions (“Trying my best to/Savour your compliments”) and blurry confusion (“You saw me naked/Totally freaking out”). The brutally self-aware ‘Talk’, meanwhile, reflects on the fizzing honeymoon phase of early relationships when you ignore the red flags you feel in your gut (“Hold your gaze/Hoping that it doesn’t break”). It’s set over soft-rock instrumentals that recall alt-pop heroes like Beabadoobee or Clairo.
On early EPs, 2022’s ‘Elegy’ and 2023’s ‘WELL WELL’, Canal spun stories over lilting piano and stripped-back instrumentals. Sonically, ‘Slowly, It Dawns’ builds upon this existing world: the sweltering ‘Cake’, which depicts late-night debauchery (“Fuck the cake!/Let’s go straight to the vodka”) is filled with sticky basslines and woozy layered vocals, its second verse dusted in UKG beats. ‘California Sober’ is a sultry cut built around salsa rhythms and pulsing synths, while ‘15%’ could have been pulled straight from a noughties romcom with its swooning production, its harmonious melodies and instrumental arrangement evoking KT Tunstall.
There are moments of subdued beauty throughout. The record finishes with the one-two punch of ‘Black Swan’ and its sibling track ‘Swan Song’. The two tracks showcase the power in Canal’s songwriting; the former won the Ivor Novello Award for Best Song Musically and Lyrically last year, while the latter is a powerful musing on the fragility of life and forgiveness.
‘Swan Song’ concludes with the poignant question: “Who knows how long we’ve got?/As long as I am breathing, I know it’s not too late to love.” It’s both full of grief and hope, the two knotty emotions filling each other’s gaps in a moving exploration of loss. This duality is a powerful tool in ‘Slowly, It Dawns’: it’s compelling and moving songwriting that manages to depict all of life’s complexities, Canal spinning raw emotion into beautifully crafted songs.
ALBUM REVIEWS
The leather jackets and skinny jeans worn by Noah Dillon and Chandler Ransom Lucy have become something of a signature, and the pair have hovered around the edges of the pop worlds in New York and Los Angeles for quite some time. First highlighted by NME during the Dimes Square resurgence in 2023, The Hellp have gradually stepped away from their earlier indie-sleaze imitation and leaned into something far more thoughtful. Their wild, neon-tinged party vibe has been traded for a more cinematic electronic approach that still holds onto a confident, self-aware attitude.
Dillon and Lucy started releasing music as The Hellp in 2016, with early mixtapes rooted in the chaotic nights and carefree behaviour once associated with NYC’s indie-sleaze staples like LCD Soundsystem and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Over time, though, they’ve earned a steadily growing respect from critics. That rise has come through both their underground gigs, which have included a show at London’s Corsica Studios with Fakemink as support, and through Dillon’s expanding visual work that recently reached Rosalía’s ‘LUX’ album and a pair of music videos for 2hollis.
As ‘Riviera’ approached release, the duo shared: “We knew our next project would need to be a bit more mature… we refuse to become stagnant. ‘Riviera’ is more solemn, restrained and impassioned than anything we’ve done before.” The finished album feels like Dillon and Lucy carefully balancing identity and openness, theatricality and direct emotion.
The lead release, ‘Country Road’, carries a late-night heaviness, the kind of confession you would quietly tell a friend in a club’s smoking area. Its lonely tone is surrounded by glitching electronics and a rising bridge that points to the exhaustion that follows endless nights out. Tracks like ‘New Wave America’ and ‘Cortt’ deepen what the duo mention in their liner notes as a “desperate story of the disparate Americana.” Both pieces broaden the album’s emotional landscape and offer clear-eyed commentary on reluctantly stepping into adulthood.
When ‘Riviera’ shifts into ‘Doppler’, the tone brightens for a moment as hopeful synths lift Dillon’s words about yearning and heartbreak into an emotional peak. And in the final moments of the record, The Hellp land on something instantly familiar to anyone who has drifted away from the club scene. The Kavinsky-like opening of ‘Here I Am’ nods to their early inspirations, while the closing track ‘Live Forever’ arrives with a slow, grounded maturity, built around Dillon repeating the line: “I don’t want to live forever.”
‘Riviera’ holds far less disorder than The Hellp’s earlier releases. This turn inward marks an important risk for a duo once fuelled by the momentum of a downtown New York comeback. By easing off the frenzy, The Hellp have stepped out of the party’s lingering haze and returned with a style that feels more refined and more aware of itself than anything they have created before.
